


Ice Ice Baby

by sprinkle_of_cinnamon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky is a smooth operator, Clint is a competent goon, I don't even know what happened here, Ice Delivery Man AU, M/M, Making the ice element way less tragic, Nat is Perfect, SHIELD agent!Steve, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Snark, Stark Industries Employee!Bucky, Steve is a mess, Tony is so pleased with everything, Undercover, accidental PWP, everyone is a badass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 00:57:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8690350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprinkle_of_cinnamon/pseuds/sprinkle_of_cinnamon
Summary: "Steve,” Sam muttered against the plastic of the steering wheel. “I swear I saw the guy’s pupils dilate when you walked into the room last time. We can’t plant this bug because dude has a crush on you.”
Steve spluttered. He specifically didn’t mention his slip up to remain undercover when he made direct, accidental eye contact with Bucky while he was flirting with him. 
Okay, yeah. He could kind of see where Sam was coming from with this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> One time I was at the grocery store and saw a very attractive ice delivery man. That's it, that's how this happened. 
> 
> Special shout out to toomanysharks for jokingly telling me to make this into an AU. The joke is that I did it.
> 
> Disclaimer: Marvel is Marvel is Marvel and not mine at all.

**Ice Ice Baby**

His official job title was an Operational Field Weapons Specialist for Stark Industries. Which was just another way of saying that he made a living shooting and/or blowing things up, for science.

Bucky loved his job.

He got to do all of his favorite things, like test out the scope on an enhanced rifle, or figure out if it was possible to outrun the blast radius on a bomb with delayed detonation. It was the exciting parts of combat, but without the guilt and murder.

He had been handpicked with a few others from active duty to help out the good old U.S. of A’s best weapon supplier. Bucky’s black ops file might have been mostly redacted, but Tony Stark himself selected his crack field ops team and for some reason, Bucky had made the cut.

He saluted Happy as he passed through security and hit the elevator up to the seventeenth floor. The first thing Bucky noticed was the deafening sound of “Milkshake” blaring from the sound system.

Natasha sighed when he looked at her in confusion.

Nat was a former KGB assassin, although her official job title was listed as an Operational Field Tactician. She was a tiny, impossibly stunning redhead, and single-handedly one of the most terrifying people Bucky had ever met.

In his line of work, he had met a lot of truly terrifying people. This was a distinctive honor. He was a little in love with her.

“I made the mistake of telling Barton that Darcy from the third floor always gave him the eye,” she explained, gesturing to the sound system, as if that made sense.

Bucky rummaged through his mailbox to find the day’s agenda. Combat. He moved to his assigned locker and grabbed his gear. “He does realize we get the eye because everyone thinks we’re going to snap and kill them all, right?” Nat shrugged.

“Nu-uh, she gives me the bedroom eyes,” Clint crowed from where he was swinging upside down on a pull-up bar. Bucky looked to Nat for confirmation.

Barton was, well, Bucky still wasn’t one hundred percent certain what Barton was. Some sort of special ops floater with remarkable archery skills. His official job title was Operational Pain in the Ass.

He had also somehow become one of Bucky’s best friends along with Nat.

He blamed it on the time that they were testing long-range missiles in the desert and accidentally collapsed their safety zone. You really got to bond with people while trapped in rubble for thirteen consecutive hours.

Bucky could recognize fifty-one different birdcalls because of that incident. He was still slightly bitter about it.

Natasha just sighed again and got to her feet. “Alright, boys. Today I get to kick your asses.”

She picked up what looked like a tiny, glowing circle. After she pressed the center, a blue console activated and enveloped her hand. “It’s a strategic critique enhancement. Scans fighting styles then provides an assessment and constructive improvements.”

Bucky finished buckling his vest and switched into steel-toed boots. “Awesome,” he breathed. He was only half sarcastic because the device actually sounded pretty cool.

“Go easy on me,” Clint told her, eyes wide with sincerity. “I need to look pretty for Darcy.”

They all filed into their gym space, the one with mats lining the floors and reinforced everything. After Stark replaced the window for the fifth time, he finally gave up and went the overkill route.

Natasha got into position and raised her eyebrows. “Ready?”

An hour later and both Bucky and Clint were groaning on the ground as Natasha poked at the device.

“Ow, ow, ow,” Clint whimpered as he rolled to his side, arms flailing to reach his water bottle. He squeezed it while sprawled on the mats and missed his mouth.

Bucky took deep, even breaths, refusing to complain even though he needed to soak in an ice bath for about a week.

Natasha gave it her best to see what the tech would recommend. She tapped the device once more. “You guys can take a breather, it needs a little while to process the information and produce output.”

Her hair was disheveled from when Barton had attempted to pin her with a chokehold and she had a bloody lip from the hit Bucky delivered with his elbow.

Clint feebly raised a hand towards Bucky. In sync they both began a round of rock, paper, scissors. Barton cheered before tapering off into a moan when his paper beat Bucky’s rock.

Rolling to his feet, Bucky winced as he limped down towards the break room.

Each floor of the building was designed to be self-sufficient but specialized. The IT floor was decked out with enough computers and gadgetry to hurt Bucky’s head. Human resources was full of open space and lots of areas for conducting mandatory collaboration exercises.

The Field Ops floor looked like a well-funded army base with a variety of combat simulations, a shooting range, and an armory.

The break room seemed dull in comparison, but it was one of the few regularly purposed rooms on the floor. It had a table, a fridge, a microwave, a couch.

Most importantly, it had, much to Tony Stark’s chagrin, an ice cube storage freezer.

Tony had pitched his own design for an ice cube dispenser, an automatic one eons ahead of the kind even sports complexes used for ice baths. There was nothing wrong with his pitch or with the machine itself.

It was the fact that his handpicked, crack team of field op agents were nostalgic for ice cubes in a bag and wanted the immediate access. Waiting even ten minutes for ice cubes that could already be shaped and at the ready had been outvoted.

Bucky slowly lumbered into the room and stopped short when he saw the freezer door open, void of any ice cubes.

His head whipped towards the noise when there was movement from behind the freezer.

A good-looking black guy shuffled into view. He flashed Bucky an easy grin. “Hey, man. Sorry for the inconvenience, we’re just taking down usage numbers and restocking. You caught us in between. My co-worker should be up in fifteen with more ice.”

Bucky nodded and decided to improvise for the time being, going to the sink and running cold water into a cup to hold to his black eye.

“Looking pretty rough for someone working in the science field,” the guy pointed out, scribbling something onto his clipboard.

Bucky gave him a small flash of a smile. “You ever tried for statistically significant numbers? It’s a swift and thorough beat down,” he told him. The guy laughed.

They both looked towards the door in surprise when a rumbling started down the hall and got closer. Another man entered the room, pushing a service cart loaded with bags of ice.

“Good timing,” Bucky said, pleased that he could head off the worst of his bruises before they had time to settle in and ache.

The man turned towards him startled, before shrugging and shoving the cart closer to the machine.

Bucky froze in place when he got a look at the guy’s profile. He couldn’t get a clear view of his face, obscured by a low-brimmed company hat. The guy’s form was also shrouded in a huge, ill-fitting coat, likely to keep warm with the ice.

But holy shit, Bucky could see enough of the cut on the guy’s jaw line, the broad span of his shoulders, and his large hands to know he was the kind of attractive that made people weepy they were so perfect.

He tried to stop staring because he had been reliably informed that when he stared intently he looked deranged. Apparently, that was a hard angle to play.

The first guy’s easy smile seemed a little more strained than before, but he shook it off. “Yeah, what do you know,” the guy said, inflecting the words with some sort of significance that Bucky was clearly missing.

The ice delivery guy was missing it too from the way he stared at his co-worker like a bewildered puppy.

The delivery guy moved to the machine and began hauling the bags of ice in as if they weighed nothing. Bucky stared blatantly, watching the tendons in the exposed section of his arm strain and relax with the motion.

Fuck it if he seemed creepy, this guy was too much.

“That was fast,” the first guy said, putting another emphasis on the words that made Bucky glance between them with interest.

The hat guy paused, two of the bags tossed over his shoulder and another three held in his arms. Those bags were twenty pounds each. The guy wasn’t even straining under the weight as he frowned at his co-worker.

Bucky had to talk himself down from getting turned on in the break room because of the ice delivery guy doing his job.

“The elevator came right away,” the guy said, cocking his head.

The two tried to communicate something nonverbally and Bucky almost snorted. Something was definitely weird here.

The black guy finally looked away and jotted something else down on the paper before raising a hand towards Bucky. “Sorry again for the delay, have a nice rest of your day.”

Now it was just Bucky and the delivery guy as he shifted ice from the cart into the freezer.

He debated leaving because he could feel the urge to ask the guy out getting stronger with each casual toss of the ice bags. While he was struggling internally he missed the fact that the guy had finished up.

Bucky took a drink of the water in his hand to do something instead of trying to get at the ice while the guy was still there. He had some self-control.

Bucky’s eyebrows shot straight up when the guy passed over one of their cloth bags from the dispenser filled with a handful of ice. “For your—,” the guy trailed off, gesturing to his own face.

His features were still obscured, the man’s head tilted forward even as he stood in front of Bucky. It didn’t do much to hide the flush visible on the shadowed planes of his face.

“Thanks,” Bucky said, his voice embarrassingly hoarse.

The guy nodded and then grabbed his cart and strode out of the room. Bucky was not ashamed to admit he watched his ass the entire time he walked away.

It was only once he had the ice pressed to his face and he grabbed another bag for Clint that he remembered something about the situation had seemed strange. He walked back to the gym and tossed the bag towards Clint, who caught it with a joyous shout, before glancing to see that Nat was still waiting for the machine.

Bucky went into their office space and powered up one of the computers. He pulled up a Stark Industries work log, scrolling to the appointments and saw that there was in fact an appointment with ‘Nick’s Ice Supply’.

He typed the company into a search engine and scrolled through the site. Most places these days listed information about service providers after so many false identification incidents had occurred.

There were employee photos, but they were taken from far away. The quality was blurred and heavily pixilated.

It didn’t matter because Bucky had sniper’s eyes.

The first guy he had seen was listed as Sam Worsten and the delivery guy was Steve Rivers.

Everything seemed to check out, but he wasn’t where he was today because he let things go when they pinged on his radar. Bucky typed out an email to Tony letting him know that something was up and to keep an eye out.

He figured that was good enough.

Bucky turned the computer off again when he heard Natasha’s low voice sounding disgruntled. “I do not over-rotate my undercuts.”

“Uh, you kind of do,” Clint pointed out.

Bucky heard a muffled thump and Clint’s responding yelp. He huffed out a laugh before stepping back into the room for round two.

•

Bucky had pretty much forgotten about the weird and absurdly attractive ice deliveryman incident until a week later.

He was on a conference call, translating between a Russian neuroscientist and a French microphysicist. He had just finished explaining the purpose of Stark’s proposal when someone interrupted him.

“Pardon my intrusion, Mr. Barnes,” JARVIS’s cool, accented voice sounded.

Bucky excused himself for a moment and tilted the phone away. “What can I do for you?” he asked, waiting for the A.I. to continue.

It had taken some adjustment time to get used to Stark’s invasive tech, but he grew on Bucky. Even if JARVIS was technically code, he was polite, informative, and delightfully good at backtalk, especially to Stark.

“Mr. Stark requested that you locate the Brander file please,” JARVIS informed him.

“Copy that,” Bucky assured before returning to his call to find the two men attempting to breach the language barrier with a fragmented discussion in Spanish about colors.

He got up from the desk he had been sitting at and headed to the file room, listening to the description of how to peer review the technique at hand.

Bucky frowned in confusion when he saw the vaguely familiar silhouette of the ice delivery guy heading the wrong way down the hall. Bucky cleared his throat and the guy tensed before turning around quickly. He relaxed at the sight of Bucky.

The guy’s mouth pulled up into a smile, his face still blocked by his hat. Bucky took a minute to catalogue that wasn’t normally the M.O. for deliverymen now that he had seen him twice.

He glanced around the hall. The break room was down the other way and to the left. He had been right. Something was definitely up.

Instead of making a big deal about it, because Bucky was absolutely certain he had interrupted the guy before he had gotten far, Bucky jerked his head towards the room.

The guy hesitated for a moment before pushing his cart back around. Bucky corrected the Frenchman in his understanding of the method, before relaying his concerns about cost and efficacy to the Russian. He opened the door to the break room and stood to the side for the guy.

Steve, Bucky remembered, before strictly lecturing himself not to accidentally use his name because he shouldn’t know that in the first place.

The guy came into the room and went about his ice hauling duties, but with fewer bags this time.

Bucky continued the call in the break room. None of the information they were discussing was strictly identifiable to the product, so even if Steve spoke French or Russian, he wasn’t overly concerned.

Bucky had gotten absorbed in trying to figure out how to accurately translate so many heavily scientific words for the solvent process that he didn’t realize Steve had slowed his movements down significantly.

He tipped the phone from his face. “You waitin’ for me?” he asked.

Steve accidentally dropped the ice bag he was holding onto the floor. “No,” he said quickly.

Bucky bit his lip to keep from laughing as Steve hauled the ice bag back up.

He translated the expected delivery date of the solvent before moving the phone again. “I’m Bucky,” he told the ice guy, introducing himself.

The guy finished loading in the last ice bag. “Steve,” he mumbled back.

Bucky watched him brush his hands together for warmth and close the freezer door. “How many languages can you speak?” the guy, Steve, asked.

Bucky leaned back against the counter. “A lot,” he said, trying to avoid saying a number. Whenever he actually told anyone it either sounded like he was making it up or bragging.

He didn’t want to cut off the conversation though, so he dropped his voice lower. “I’m very talented with my tongue,” he told Steve, sticking it out between his teeth for emphasis.

Steve somehow managed to trip into the cart, smashing it back against the wall. He looked flustered as he quickly straightened the wheels out.

Bucky waited for a minute, half paying attention to the ongoing conversation before adding, “Haven’t seen you around much before.”

“Oh, uh. Must have missed each other,” Steve said with a shrug.

Bucky translated the price for government authorization under the U.N. approved documentation before smirking. “Shame,” he said.

Ice Guy Steve forgot to keep his head tilted down at that, gaping at Bucky. There we go. He had been right about this too.

Steve was goddamn beautiful.

Bright blue eyes and high cheekbones, flush spread high, his mouth soft and open in surprise.

Bucky’s smirk only got wider when they locked eyes and Steve ducked forward again. He busied himself with the cart, flipping it back around. Bucky crossed the room to hold the door open for him.

He winked as Steve passed through. The man’s hands tightened on the cart incrementally. “Have a good afternoon,” he said, hurriedly before half running away.

Bucky shook his head and focused on finishing up the call.

Then he sent another email to Stark telling him to look into that ice delivery company because they were up to something. He wasn’t overly concerned because Tony’s security was top notch and anything actually harmful would be on the radar a second after it was detected.

Plus, Steve was hot.

He wanted to wait this one out. He could afford to do that. He was just a Field Operations Weapons Specialist these days.

•

Steve climbed into the truck, his face still warm from his encounter with the guy on the seventeenth floor.

Sam hopped into the driver’s seat five minutes later. “Okay, we got plants on floors two, five, eight and eleven now. You got seventeen?”

They hadn’t even bothered using comms on this attempt because there was some sort of interference on the seventeenth floor that had caused the initial miscommunication with Steve arriving so soon with the ice.

Opening his mouth for a moment, Steve closed it again and shook his head.

Sam rubbed at his forehead. “Dammit. That’s definitely a floor we need. I don’t know what the hell they get up to, but I would not want to be fucking around with any of those people.”

Steve’s blush intensified at the word choice. He wouldn’t mind fucking around with the guy from the break room. Bucky he had said his name was.

Bucky was unfairly attractive in a way that Steve knew was slightly problematic. Messy haired with dark blue eyes, the guy had looked ridiculously good with a shiner.

He and Sam were supposed to be planting bugs because of the security threat posed by the black market circling around one of Stark’s newer inventions. As SHIELD agents, they had worked together to accomplish much more difficult tasks, but this was meant to stay low key and unobtrusive.

It was just recon.

Fury would make that disappointed face when he had to report back that they hadn’t planted the bug on seventeen again. Sam was definitely right. The three people on that floor were intimidating on principle.

No one had been directly hostile, but they all had obvious combat experience in the way they held themselves. There was no mistaking the potential for violence.

Even if he had caught the short guy shimmying alone while singing about milkshakes.

“What happened this time?” Sam sighed.

“I got caught in the hall going the opposite way from the ice room,” Steve admitted reluctantly.

“Couldn’t have said you got lost?” Sam asked, giving him his own judgmental expression.

“It was the same guy from before,” Steve told him, wrinkling his nose up. He hadn’t been sure if it was an accidental run in or intentional, but it had definitely been a problem.

Sam stared at him. “Of course it was,” he groaned and hit his head against the steering wheel.

“What?” Steve prompted, confused by his reaction.

“Steve,” Sam muttered against the plastic. “I swear I saw the guy’s pupils dilate when you walked into the room last time. We can’t plant this bug because dude has a crush on you.”

Steve spluttered. “He can’t even see me!”

They had specifically put Steve in the oversized work coat to hide his large frame and he wore the hat so low to cover his face. He knew he wasn’t always the best option when it came to covert ops because he didn’t blend in well.

He really didn’t get it, but Sam just made this long-suffering face about it.

Steve specifically didn’t mention his slip up when he had made direct, accidental eye contact with the guy when he had been flirting with him. Okay, yeah. He could kind of see where Sam was coming from with this.

“He could see you plenty,” Sam said. He looked contemplative. “But maybe he should see more.”

Steve frowned. “I don’t think I like the sound of this.”

Sam grinned and waved a hand. “We’ll come in for a work order, break the freezer, and you can repair it. You’ll wear one of those shirts from the Tolera mission while I go plant the bug.”

The Tolera mission involved a handful of fifty-year-old women at a tennis club running a drug ring. Steve infiltrated the operation by working as club maintenance staff.

It had been determined imperative that he wore a work shirt two sizes smaller than necessary. Sometimes he suspected that Coulson let the power of field assignments go to his head.

“Why do you hate me?” Steve groaned.

Sam patted him on the shoulder. “Buddy, if this works out, we can plant the bug and you might get laid.”

Steve clapped his hands over his face in mortification while Sam laughed.

•

Steve tried not to scowl as he pushed the cart through the front entryway, this time laden with a portable freezer and a toolbox. Most of the security and hospitality staff blatantly stared at him. He was in dark work pants and a painted on grey t-shirt.

Steve glared at Sam where he waited while Steve was stopped and patted down twice.

In the elevator, Sam snickered beside him as he pushed the button for floor seventeen. They had waited three days before trying again to deflect suspicions.

Sam strode into the break room ahead of him and did something to the freezer. Steve came in and shifted the ice bags into the portable cooler he wheeled through.

“Okay, I’m going to show you how to get this done,” Sam muttered before slipping away.

Steve flipped him off as he went and opened up the toolbox for the sake of looking the part. He wasn’t overly surprised when he heard someone walk into the break room moments later.

Steve glanced up and saw Bucky, reading a file, headphones tucked into his ears and mumbling something under his breath as he headed straight for the coffee machine.

He stopped mid-motion with the sugar in hand to blink at Steve and tug out one of the earphones. “Hey, what’s up with the freezer?” he asked, looking concerned by the open side panel and toolbox.

Steve gestured to it with a screwdriver. “These things get finicky, should have it sorted out in no time,” he said.

Bucky followed the motion he made with the screwdriver before his eyes snapped back to Steve’s face and then dragged over his arms. His gaze was firmly planted on his chest for a solid three minutes before Steve coughed self-consciously.

Bucky jerked at the noise, some of the sugar spilling onto his hand and the counter. He finally looked away and started cleaning up the mess.

After wiping the counter clean he stuck two of his fingers in his mouth, licking off the sugar.

Steve’s throat went dry at the sight. Bucky looked back over and noticed him watching, pulling his fingers out slowly, slick with spit. “Everything okay?” he asked innocently.

He could feel his face turn red, worse than any of the other times Bucky made him blush. The wicked grin he got in response told him that this fact had not gone unnoticed.

“So, what’s with the wardrobe change?” Bucky asked, blowing at the steam on his coffee.

Steve pretended to be confused by the question, glancing down at his clothes. “Just doing repairs today,” he explained. He should have left it at that, but his voice kept on going without him. “Surprised you noticed.”

Bucky’s nose wrinkled. “No, you’re not.”

Steve tinkered with the freezer for a moment before admitting, “No, I’m not.”

“The hat and the big coat normally keep you under the radar?” Bucky asked curiously.

Steve forced himself not to stop moving at the comment, his heart pounding faster. “If you mean from getting hit on all the time, then yes. But it didn’t stop you.”

Bucky grinned at him. “I didn’t need to see you to know you were worth flirting with, but I meant during undercover work.”

This time Steve dropped the screwdriver, eyes wide.

Bucky shrugged. “You’re obviously not an ice delivery guy and your partner ain’t going to get that bug planted with Nat out there.”

“You knew?” Steve managed to say, mostly thrown by how conversationally he was discussing this.

“Yeah, knew right away,” Bucky told him, cocking his head.

“Shit,” Steve muttered under his breath.

Bucky just looked amused by this reaction. “So, since you’re not actually fixing that freezer, you want something? Water? Coffee? A blow job?”

Steve was horrified to admit that he squeaked.

He was a highly trained SHIELD agent. He had been shot at more times than he could count. He knew how to operate any number of vehicles be it land, air, or sea. He had the highest record in SHIELD history for hand to hand combat.

And he just squeaked.

“Figure we got a while because Nat is going to really ham it up. No pressure though, just offering. Oh, we have apples and granola bars too,” he continued.

Steve couldn’t tell if it was an attempt to placate him, or if Bucky was really that blasé with offering oral sex to men undercover as an ice deliverer.

“Water?” Steve managed to ask and Bucky nodded, taking another drink of his coffee before filling up a glass of water for him and passing it over.

They were quiet for a long few minutes. Bucky seemed comfortable enough, but Steve felt like he was vibrating out of his skin.

They had been made and the undoubtedly dangerous opposition was not at all bothered by this development.

“Jeez, relax,” Bucky instructed when he noticed how tense Steve was.

“I don’t know how to do that with all of this,” Steve told him, tapping his finger against his glass.

“Well, I did offer,” Bucky reminded him with an open-handed, half shrug.

Steve blushed for the thousandth time. “I don’t normally, um—,” he trailed off.

“Don’t normally what?” Bucky asked. He didn’t look judgmental, simply curious about what Steve didn’t do.

“I don’t—,” he started to say and then glanced back up at Bucky. He was watching him, bottom lip tugged into his mouth as he worked it over, eyes focused on Steve’s face as he waited.

“Fuck it,” Steve mumbled before moving closer and curling his hands around the strong lines of Bucky’s jaw to press their lips together. Bucky made a pleased noise and tangled his hands in Steve’s hair as he arched up into the kiss.

They broke apart panting for breath and Bucky’s grin was devastating as he trailed a hand down Steve’s chest. Steve crushed their mouths back into another kiss to stop his heart from fluttering at the sight.

Bucky kissed back happily, opening his mouth to let him in further. Steve’s fingers trailed down to Bucky’s black ‘Stark Industries’ shirt and peeled it up and over his head.

He kissed down Bucky’s neck, feeling the smooth plane of hard muscle beneath him, stuttering over scars and going back to trace them again. Bucky made a broken noise at the sensation, gasping, and Steve pulled his own shirt off.

“Might as well not have been wearing the shirt,” Bucky said against his mouth, touching every inch of exposed skin, dragging his hands across Steve’s stomach.

Steve huffed a laugh. “That was the point.”

“Good job,” Bucky complimented before popping open the button on Steve’s jeans. “You know, I got all hot and bothered the first time I saw you lifting the ice bags,” he admitted, voice low and rough against Steve’s ear.

Steve groaned, his fingers flexing and pressing into Bucky’s thighs. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bucky confirmed moving to work Steve’s pants down.

Which was how Steve found himself buck ass naked and incredibly turned on mid-mission in the break room of Stark Industries. He would not be writing this in the report.

He scrambled to get Bucky out of his clothes as he confessed, “I stopped working when I heard you on the phone because I got turned on listening to you switch between languages like that.”

Bucky helped him, shimmying out of his pants. “Twenty-five,” he told Steve, looking at him, eyes bright. “I can speak twenty-five languages.”

“Shit,” Steve groaned and then they were kissing again.

He walked them backwards and they ended up against the wall beside the ice machine. The kiss was filthy. That was the only way Steve could describe the way Bucky’s tongue felt sliding into his mouth, making him squirm.

Then Bucky moved away, guiding Steve to the wall, with a firm hand on his hip. He dropped to his knees.

Steve was somehow surprised this was happening even after Bucky had literally offered.

He couldn’t stop staring at the way Bucky’s mouth moved across his lower stomach, down his hips, against his inner thighs. He made a keening noise when Bucky wrapped his lips around him and swallowed Steve’s length in one fluid motion.

Bucky moved slowly, working down the shaft methodically and pulling back before repeating the motion.

Steve’s hands fluttered uselessly until Bucky caught them, interlocking their fingers and bringing them to his hair. Bucky closed his hands down over Steve’s so he would grab on and then braced his knees further apart.

He stared down where Bucky met his gaze. Bucky moved back for just a second. “Don’t hold back.”

Steve started to ask what that meant when his eyes rolled back as Bucky took him in all the way, face pressed flush to Steve’s stomach.

He clenched his hands against Steve’s and hummed when Steve’s hips jerked involuntarily. Steve’s mouth fell open when he realized what Bucky wanted.

Steve hadn’t realized sex could be like this. This sense of desperation, of wanting, of need climbing inside of him and scratching for release.

Steve pistoned his hips forward, further into Bucky’s mouth, feeling the constriction of Bucky’s throat as he swallowed.

Bucky raised his eyebrows in challenge. Steve tightened his grip on Bucky’s hair before fucking into his mouth, hard, fast, and erratic.

Bucky moaned around him and Steve’s breath stuttered at the sensation. He kept murmuring Bucky’s name between unintelligible moans. He felt it as he got closer and tried to lock his fingers into Bucky’s hair to pull him away.

“I’m—I’m going to—,” he warned, gasping.

Bucky stayed where he was, moving relentlessly and sliding his tongue around the head of Steve’s dick before swallowing him down again and Steve was done. He came down Bucky’s throat, petting through his hair and breathing raggedly. “Oh god.”

Bucky only moved away when he began to soften, dropping a hand down to himself. “Feeling more relaxed?” he asked, somehow still smarmy.

“Not quite yet,” Steve told him. He pulled Bucky to his feet and wrapped an arm beneath his leg, hefting him upwards to pin him to the wall.

Bucky’s breath sped up as he thunked his head backwards. “Fuck,” he managed as Steve wrapped his other hand around Bucky’s cock where he was hard and leaking.

He stroked experimentally to see what Bucky liked and got into a rhythm that had him writhing. Steve sealed his mouth over Bucky’s moans, speeding up until Bucky spilled out over his fist, fingers scrabbling down Steve’s back.

“Now,” Steve told him. “Now, I’m feeling relaxed.”

Bucky’s bark of laughter was abrupt and warm.

They got cleaned up and dressed before Steve went over to put his toolbox back together. “I think Sam just flipped something, but he can fix it when he gets back.”

“I will gladly flip that back on now that you’re no longer having very loud, publicly noticeable sex,” Sam announced, striding into the room.

Steve’s eyes went wide when he noticed the red-haired woman, Nat he remembered from his recon, walk in behind him. “We weren’t—,” he started to say and then realized there was no use. “Yeah, okay, whatever. You told me the shirt would get me laid,” he pointed out.

Sam got the freezer running again. “That I did. Though I kind of meant not right now.”

“Gotta be specific,” Bucky drawled.

Steve shook his head on a laugh and began moving the ice bags back. The redhead let out an appreciative whistle. “Yeah, you were definitely right,” she said, nodding towards Bucky.

“I know,” he said smugly, watching Steve in a way that got his blood moving faster even though he literally just came.

She crossed her arms and turned back to Bucky. “They’re SHIELD, someone is after Stark’s shit, as per usual. Planting bugs for security.”

Bucky nodded and passed over a $10 bill. “Yeah, yeah, they’re not CIA. What’s the target?”

Clint strode into the room. “The subterranean blast prototypes. No worries, I took care of it.”

“What?” Sam asked in shock.

“I took care of it,” Clint repeated, inspecting his bow more closely.

Sam looked suspicious. “Wait, what kind of division is this?”

Then Tony joined them. “Oh good! Everyone’s all together. Want to go grab some fried wontons?”

Steve looked at Sam, absolutely bewildered how things had gotten so out of hand. Neither of them had ever met Stark before.

Tony clapped his hands together. “I knew from the start Fury was meddling so I just meddled right on back. And now look, everyone has a happy ending. I still have my tech, the bad guys are strung up in a basement, and I have video footage of two absurdly attractive men having sex. What a day. Can’t get any better than this.”

Clint eyed them all suspiciously. “Bucky finally hooked up with the fake ice delivery guy when I was gone?” Nat nodded and patted him on the shoulder consolingly.

“Seriously, what is this division?” Sam asked again.

“Field ops,” Nat, Clint and Bucky said in unison.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “We couldn’t get anything on any of you in our searches. How is that even possible?”

Tony snorted. “Don’t insult me.”

Nat raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Our files are classified even from SHIELD?” she whistled.

“I told you I’d take care of you,” Tony reminded her, haughtily. “Anyways, anything they would have found is blacked out. I could barely read it myself.”

“How’d you pick the team then?” Steve asked, clearly stumped by this entire situation.

Tony started off pointing to Barton. “That guy can hit targets more reliably than any machine I could ever build. Never seen him miss, ever.”

He turned his finger towards the redhead. “I’m still unsure whether or not she’s a robot. Her kill list and successful intel retrieval record are so clean it makes bleach jealous.”

Stark ended with a vague gesture towards Bucky. “And this guy. He is the literal embodiment of the Mission Impossible franchise but better looking than Tom Cruise. If there was a mission deemed too difficult or improbable, he was assigned and got it fucking done.”

“So, you’re all, what? Retired?” Sam ventured.

“Yeah, sure,” Nat said, drawing the words out.

“Blah, blah, blah, details. I wasn’t kidding about wontons. Let’s go,” Tony said, slinging his arms around Sam and Clint’s shoulders and steering them from the room.

Nat snorted and followed after, glancing back at Steve and Bucky for a moment before walking away.

“I like wontons,” Bucky informed him, finishing the rest of his now cold coffee.

“I could do wontons,” Steve agreed, still trying to adjust to the change in circumstances.

“What about a date? Could you do that too?” Bucky asked while they walked out of the room.

Steve laughed as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I could definitely do that,” he told Bucky, entering his number into the offered phone.

“I’m going to kind of miss seeing you haul around bags of ice,” Bucky admitted before they joined the rest of the group where they were arguing loudly about sweet and sour sauce versus spicy mustard.

“Let me know when you need a refresher and I’ll show up with a bag,” Steve told him in a dry tone.

“Do you make house calls?” Bucky asked cheekily.

“Weak, man, weak,” Clint commented as he put his bow away and changed into a sweatshirt.

“Fuck off,” Bucky grumbled.

“I thought it was pretty good,” Sam reassured him. “You have to be very upfront with Steve or it goes over his head,” he explained to Clint.

“Hey,” Steve objected.

“I told you I had a talented tongue and you fled the room,” Bucky reminded him.

Steve pretended to ignore him and joined Tony where he marched them into the elevator and outside. Stark clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Bucky’s sex on fire. But so are you. It works. Do you think I should get an order of chicken fried rice too? Who am I kidding, of course I should.”

He blinked at Tony’s slew of unending words. “Can’t go wrong with chicken fried,” he finally agreed.

“Potstickers too?” Nat asked from behind them.

“Obviously potstickers too,” Tony scoffed.

Steve’s phone began to ring and he saw Fury’s number flash on the screen. “Rogers,” he answered.

“Mission status?” Fury demanded.

Steve stalled for a second and Tony reached over to grab the phone. “Nicky, Nick,” he crooned as he walked off.

Sam came up on his other side, huffing out a laugh at something Natasha just said, while Clint acted out some elaborate story.

Not quite what he had been expecting from the mission, but he was okay with the outcome so far.

Bucky offered Steve a handful of cinnamon coated almonds. Steve popped a few in his mouth. “Where’d you get these?” They were even still warm.

Bucky gestured over towards a food cart. “The Chinese place is still four blocks away, I got hungry.”

Steve glanced around the street. “I thought there was one on Turner.”

Bucky nodded. “There is. We can’t go back there. Got kicked out after Clint stuck his chopsticks up his nostrils and shot one out at Tony. They got into a slap fight that ended in an entire set of broken dishes and the hostess covered in soy sauce.”

Steve smiled. “Is this always what it’s like?” he asked, gesturing to Tony and the rest of his team.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Bucky nodded. He watched Clint hop around and imitate an owl hoot. “It’s great.”

Bucky reached out and grabbed Steve’s hand, squeezing it as he shoved another handful of almonds into his mouth.

Steve stared at their joined hands and felt a smile spreading across his face. Sam caught his expression and waggled his eyebrows, shooting him a thumbs up.

“I think I’m going to order orange chicken,” Steve said thoughtfully.

“Good choice,” Bucky nodded.

Steve watched Bucky struggle to push his wind-tousled hair out of his eyes. When Bucky noticed, his own smile grew and he winked at the attention.

“Yeah, it is,” Steve agreed.


End file.
